


too much, too little

by nagase (machogwapito)



Category: Japanese Actor RPF, Johnny's Entertainment, TOKIO
Genre: Confessions of love, Fluff, LOOOOOOOOOVE, Literally this is so gross and fluffy it's nasty, M/M, Making Love, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machogwapito/pseuds/nagase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt: "Fucking like rabbits when suddenly seme stops and buries his face into uke’s neck and whispers “I love you so fucking much” AND THEY HOLD HANDS????"</p>
            </blockquote>





	too much, too little

**Author's Note:**

> For [nanatsugokoro](http://nanatsugokoro.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

Twenty years.

Twenty years is too much and too little, too many and too few—too everything in the entire world as they stumble uselessly into Nagase’s bedroom and Matsuoka fumbles to click the bedside lamp on.

It’s too much because Matsuoka’s memorised the irregular shape of the cute mole beneath Nagase’s eye, too little because he never noticed the little birthmark on the curve of his ear. It’s too many because Nagase’s laughing about how Matsuoka’s just as thin as he was when they first met, and too few because Matsuoka still feels like the man beneath him is eleven years old and auditioning for Johnny’s in a goofy beige shirt.

"You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you?" comes Nagase’s words, hands moving to cup Matsuoka’s cheeks as he smiles at him.

Matsuoka ducks his head. “… maybe a little.”

It doesn’t matter that he kissed Nagase on a whim in the middle of recording a song with him. It doesn’t matter that they’ve kissed even before that—at parties, after concerts, in stolen boyhood memories of thinking you wanted your best friend. This one still feels like their first, Nagase’s stubble against him and Matsuoka’s hands sliding down his chest as their lips meet and meet and meet again.

Nagase’s skin is tan beneath the yellowed light of the lamp, warm and just a little rough beneath his fingers. Matsuoka lives for the arch of his back and the soft, breathless sounds of his own name coming from his lips. And when he tastes him, heat in his mouth and the sheets shifting just a little beneath them as Nagase grips them and twists them in his fingers, the way Nagase shivers and bites his lip is enough to make Matsuoka lose his mind.

There’s nothing that really prepares anybody for sleeping with their best friend. Matsuoka could’ve never predicted the weight of Nagase’s thigh on his palm, or the way the man gasps when Matsuoka presses his fingers just right inside of him. He could’ve never prepared himself for the way Nagase moans into his mouth when he tastes himself on Matsuoka’s tongue.

And yet—he takes him. He thinks, at first, about the pain and Nagase’s comfort. He kisses his lips and his cheeks and the stubble on his jaw as he asks him if he’s all right.

Nagase deals with it for a grand total of two seconds. Then his lips touch Matsuoka’s ear and he asks him to move.

It’s more of a challenge to be rhythmic than Matsuoka thought it would be. He’s always been able to predict what beats Nagase wanted in his songs, how to time his drums and how to make Nagase sound the best he could be. Now he doesn’t know what to do. Now he only knows that Nagase’s voice raw and wanting and hollowing out the air around them could never be compared to anything else.

He listens to their skin touching, to the mattress moving, to the headboard smacking against the wall. He starts to forget. He starts to forget seeing Nagase as an idiot kid who laughed at everything, starts to forget that once upon a time they’d been too young and too stupid. He forgets any hesitation he ever had, any time Nagase looked like someone he wanted but someone he could never have. Matsuoka swallows Nagase’s moans down his throat as his fingers mark the flesh of his hips and thighs and a waist that certainly used to be slimmer, and as Nagase’s hands cup his face and touch his hair and scrape down his back and neck he tastes the way Nagase’s voice climbs in pitch with his body.

Higher and higher and higher he can feel Nagase whine and crest and arch his back, and Matsuoka follows him—follows him as he always has, meeting each cue with a hard snap of his hips and a sound disappearing onto Nagase’s own tongue. He’s always been playing to Nagase’s songs. Even here, even now.

"I’m gonna—" He moves quicker, faster, enough that Nagase’s attempts to speak turn to breathless gasps of air. Matsuoka knows what he wants and what he needs and he gives it to him—his lips pressing to the curve of Nagase’s throat.

He stops for just a moment, his hips aching and his hands nearly trembling in the tightness of their grip.

"I love you so fucking _much_ ,” Matsuoka whispers.

And then he breaks him.

Somewhere in the middle of it all Nagase’s hands slide down Matsuoka’s biceps and find his own hands. Somewhere in the middle of it all their fingers link and Nagase kisses him and Matsuoka tastes the cry in his mouth before Nagase spills between them. Minutes and hours and days and weeks blur together and Matsuoka is overwhelmed—more so when Nagase flips them and he’s treated to the sight of his best friend with shadows playing on his skin.

 _He’s so beautiful._ As he thinks that, Matsuoka also thinks _I’m so gay._

But Nagase moves on him. Touches him. Kisses his lips and his chin and his neck as their hands remain linked together. Even when Matsuoka can’t take it any more and Nagase shudders as he’s filled to the brim, he doesn’t stop—relentless and perfectionist and as unbelievably ecstatic as he’s always been, even when it comes to making Matsuoka orgasm.

By the end of it, Nagase can’t feel his knees and Matsuoka’s sure his hipbones are broken in several different places. They sweat and pant and kiss until their mouths hurt, and Matsuoka throws a leg around Nagase just to be sure the idiot won’t be able to leave.

Right before he falls asleep, Nagase tells him he loves him, too.

And it takes all of Matsuoka’s self-control to keep from making love to him all over again.


End file.
